Subway Messiah

By Arlene Iris Distler

Nov. 16, 2016

Dear Diary:

The car lurchedas he kicked openhis black leather bag,switched on the orchestraclad in black plasticand full-throttled into song:“Comfort ye, comfort ye, my people!”His eyes rolled with emotion,mouth grimaced with the strainof singing above the train’s din.“The voice of Him that crieth in the wilderness…”

His, untrained, was urgentover the groaning wheels,willing the words, pitchedraw, convulsedin this world sub-terrain.“Every valley shall be exalted!”Steel hurtled, Heaven bent.“And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed…”

Tourists, shoppers, the shiftlesscaught midday in their travelslooked elsewhere.“Their sound is gone out into all the lands…”Finally, the train shuddered to a stop,departing riders dropped coinsinto the open satchel,new riders stepped around it.

They sorted themselves into now empty seatsas the heedless doors shut,ready or not to be transported,basso profundo,to the next station stop.